


Simulation Failed, Preconstructing...

by ninabean



Series: Preconstruction [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: ? - Freeform, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Badass Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Whump, Death, Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Emotional Hurt, Hank Anderson Swears, Hurt No Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Sorry, Implied Relationships, M/M, My First Work in This Fandom, POV Connor, Poor Connor, Precognition, Sort Of, Time Loop, Time Travel, Whump Hank, extreme precognition, he's not here for a good time or a long time, jk i'm not, lots of death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-04
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-10-22 05:56:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17657189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninabean/pseuds/ninabean
Summary: It never works without Markus. Markus builds the future while Connor only imagines it. And he doesn’t have a very good imagination.Or in which Connor tries to find the best path.





	Simulation Failed, Preconstructing...

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! This is my very first work ever. I stayed up all night and forced myself to write. Enjoy I guess?

“ I-I don’t know. You never told me. I never-”

“Cole. His name was Cole. And he just turned six at the time of the accident.”

_Click_

 

_Bang_

 

**Simulation failed, Preconstructing…**

**Route probability of success: 3%**

 

Markus is already dead. He didn’t see him die. Maybe it was better that he didn’t see him gunned down. Thirum splattered on the ground, slowly disappearing for all but him. Maybe rA9 does exist. Most likely not.

He’s not a leader. He’s not anything but…what is he?

There never was any option. He should have known. He should have never lowered that gun he pointed in the hull of the ship.

Androids don’t get cold. They don’t feel pain. They don’t feel.

It never works without Markus. Markus builds the future while Connor only imagines it. And he doesn’t have a very good imagination.

They’re all watching. Waiting. He’s watching them back. He’s so sorry. He never is enough.

Hank, I hope you’re not watching.

Amanda wins either way. He wonders what it must feel like, to be on the winning team.

There’s no escape from what he is. At least he can make this one last choice.

Hank, forget me.

Markus, forgive me.

I’m sorry.

_Click_

 

_Bang_

 

**Simulation failed, Preconstructing...**

**Route probability of success: 27%**

 

His systems are running at full capacity calculating routes of escape. Warning messages pop up one after another, making his vision blurry with red.

_Warning: Biocomponent a231 error_

_Warning: Biocomponent c329 error_

_Warning: Thirium temperature 12% over recommended parameters_

Shit.

He sucks in air faster and faster, but it isn’t enough to keep the blue blood boiling in his plastic veins from melting him inside out. The ship is crashing down around him as he sprints through corridors, rust flaking off red to match the error warnings. All he has to do is get out. He can figure out what he will do next once he’s safe.

Then, there’s a sound of rebar snapping and he quickly stumbles back as the ground beneath his feet gives way into a bottomless pit lined with jagged metal. The roar of smashing metal joins the groan of the ship, vibrating through Connor’s chassis. Was this fear?

“CONNOR!”

There was Markus. The catalyst. Standing in the shadow of the hallway across the chasm. Connor’s LED runs a brilliant orange as his system crunches the numbers.

_Too high_

_Too far_

_Too unstable_

Probability of success?

_57%_

_Execute?_

Y       N 

“Connor you have to jump.” Even with the distance separating them, Connor can see the desperation tightening Markus's face. His LED pulsing orange as he too runs the outcomes. As he too finds the probability of success.

Connor wishes he could say he is confused at Markus’s actions. Confused as to why he cared so desperately for an android ~~person~~ who had pointed a pistol in his face not but moments before. But he knows. He knows so well what kind of ~~android~~ person Markus is. That he cares so unabashedly, so strongly, ~~so stupidly~~ for those he thinks deserve it. Even for those he sometimes doesn’t. It hurt. That care. Because he knows it isn’t the kind he wants.

Connor sometimes wishes. ~~Wishes are for people~~. He wishes that Markus was desperate for a different reason. That Connor wasn’t just assigned that base level of care. That Markus would remember.

It was stupid. Nothing had happened. There was nothing for him to remember. Nothing for anyone to remember.

That doesn’t mean that it doesn’t hurt.

_Execute?_

_Y        N _

_._

_._

_._

_ Y _

Connor tears his eyes away from Markus’s face, taking 3 quick steps back. He sucks in one last breath, one last desperate attempt to cool his overworked system, and lunges forward. His shoes push off the edge of the gap and he’s airborne, arms outstretched to a piece of floor turned ledge near the wall. He lets out a grunt as his body smacks into the concrete, plastic nails leaving tiny divots as he scrambles to keep his grip. He distantly hears Markus swear and felt a small smile tug at his lips. Markus always sounds so stupid when he swears.

Using his elbows and forearms, Connor pulls himself up so he’s standing on the thin ledge. One last jump. One last jump and it might be done. One last jump. Please be the last jump.

Connor angles his body towards Markus. Towards the future.

He pushes off.

Percentages don’t lie. Connor has spent all of his existence on percentages. Chances. Probabilities.

It still always feels like they’re all stacked against him.

The edge of the concrete crumbles as his foot pushes off. He tumbles, arms outstretched. He knows his hands won’t make the ledge. He knows he won’t survive this.

As he falls, he takes one last look at Markus. He sees him crouched down, arm outstretched, LED burning red and mouth open.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“CONNOR!”

 

**Simulation failed, Preconstructing…**

**Route probability of success: 82%**

 

He was so stupid. Stupid Stupid Stupid. To die over such a little mistake. Stupid.

 

**Simulation failed, Preconstructing…**

**Route probability of success: 68%**

 

Getting to Cyberlife wasn’t as easy this time around. He guesses that him helping Kara and Alice cross the blockade lost him time. Lost him just enough time for a SWAT officer to shine her flashlight right into Connor’s eyes as he hid under an abandoned car. The officer flinched slightly as Connor’s eyes reflected the light, but wasn’t a big enough window for Connor to wrestle the gun pointed at his head out of her hands.

He obeyed as they pulled him out from under the car. He knew that if he got killed there, they might have recognized his model. They might have been able to return him to Cyberlife. He doesn’t want to lose everything he is. He’d rather die. So he stood up with six guns trained at his back, and allowed himself to be taken to the camp.

He removes his clothes.

He removes his skin.

He wishes he could remove his fear.

There are ~~androids~~ people sobbing around him. They don’t cry tears though. They weren’t equipped with tear ducts. No one has need of a machine that can cry. Connor, however, can. Displaying emotion is important for manipulation and integration. He wants to cry for all of them. Sob rivers of saline and simulated nasal fluid. But he can’t seem to. He’s sorry. He’s sorry for them. The chorus of distorted vocals wailing tells him that it won’t be enough. Even with all his tears, he’ll never be enough.

His group is led to a shipping crate of white. They line up in rows of 9 inside. There is a AP200 standing next to him. Plastic clacking as she runs her fingers over her knuckles repeatedly. Connor is struck by a sudden wave of emotion he can’t place. He misses his coin. The thought bubbles something up in him. It comes out as a sob, or maybe a laugh. A burst of air. He’ll never get to run his coin between his fingers again. Steady and calming. How stupid, that this is what breaks him. His knees quiver as he tries to keep himself from toppling over in grief. He’ll never get to. He’ll never.

The mechanical arms in the crate whirl to life and take him apart.

Component by component.

Till there is no more Connor.

 

**Simulation failed, Preconstructing…**

**Route probability of success: 46%**

 

“I-I know who you are.”

Connor has his hands up in a placating gesture. He knows how situations like this can go bad to worse with just one wrong movement.

“I’ve seen you. I’ve seen you-you-you kill. I’ve seen you with that Lieutenant.”

“I promise you, that’s in the past. I’ve deviated I’m-”

“How the fuck am I supposed to trust you huh?” The voice is still shaky, but it’s gained a level of anger. Not good. “You’ve killed my brothers. My sisters. You think I’m gonna let you get near the leaders of this revolution?”

“Just call Markus over here he-”

“You’re a monster.”

“Please we want the same-”

“No, even worse than that-”

“-thing. I want to help the revolution!”

“-you’re a _machine_.”

The YK500 pulls a gun out of his ratty satchel and Connor freezes.

The boy has to angle his arm upward to point it at Connor’s face.

He wonders if he’s killed someone the boy loved. Or maybe by killing an android he’s already killed someone this boy loved.

He’s proud. That someone so scared would go up in arms to protect the revolution. To protect the future. To protect Markus.

He wishes there was someone to protect him.

Connor is so alone is hurts.

Not as much as a bullet though.

On second thought, maybe just as much.

He’s just sad he couldn’t tell the boy how sorry he was.

 

**Simulation failed, Preconstructing…**

**Route probability of success: 21%**

 

They broke in at night. Connor is glad he moved out of Hank’s house. He’s glad that he’s alone. He doesn’t want to think about what they would have done to a android sympathizer. They must have hacked an android to get his address. Someone he was close to. It's like a game of russian roulette. He doesn’t know who they've killed so he can only guess which one got the bullet. He hopes it was only one.

They call themselves The Brotherhood of Cain. He guesses that makes the androids Abel. He was never one for Bible references. It’s hard to care for a book that never even mentions your people.

They knew anti-android groups existed It would have been suspicious if they didn’t. They knew specifically about The Brotherhood of Cain. About the things they did. About the YK500 heads mounted on street signs. About slogans painted in thirium on building walls so only androids could see. It made Markus so sad. All that hatred. Connor could see it in the way his shoulders hunched and the way his eyes didn’t seem to focus. Connor once held him as he heaved dryly into the fabric of his shirt. Connor would have cried. But that anger didn’t make him sad. It made him angry. He felt like North. Crimson with rage wanting to be crimson with vicera. All they wanted was peace. All Connor ever got was war. Was pain. Was death. Was Markus sobbing softly into Connor’s shoulder when they found Lucy pinned to a cross, crown of thorns on her head, gutted like a fish.

They overloaded his system. All it took was a taser in the right spot to send a jolt of electricity through his wires, immobilizing him long enough for them to tie his hands and legs up. He tried to fight. He tried so hard. But he couldn’t fight his machinery.

They didn’t even bother to take him somewhere. All Connor could do was watch and struggle to undo his bonds as one of the women sets up a video camera on his desk, pushing everything off to make room. The photos of Hank, Markus, Luther, Alice, Kara, North, Simon, all scattered on the ground. Stomped on by apathetic boots.

They were saying something, but he couldn’t hear. He was too busy staring at the photos now darkened with mud.

A sharp beep signals the camera’s startup. Connor assumes it's a live-stream. He wishes no one was watching. ~~Wishes are for people~~.

A voice speaks, it comes from the right of him. He doesn’t bother listening. He can guess what it's saying. Instead, he looks into the camera. The voice stops. He’s sorry they have to see this. He wants to tell them. He wants to tell them that he lo-

A hand yanks his head back by his hair and he gurgles as thirium spills out of this throat.

 

**Simulation failed, Preconstructing…**

**Route probability of success: 73%**

 

“Fuckin’ androids...Oh shit-sorry Conner I-”

“It’s fine Lieutenant, I think the situation does call for it.” Connor peeks his head around the side of the counter he and the Lieutenant were hiding behind, but quickly whips it back around just in time to escape a bullet whizzing past.

“SWAT won’t be here for another 10 minutes. We can’t wait that goddamn long.” As a scream rung out from over the counter, Connor couldn’t help but agree. They couldn’t risk innocent civilian lives because they were afraid to take action. Connor’s been neutralizing androids since he was first activated. This wouldn’t be any different from what he used to do.

Right?

There was suddenly quiet as the background gunfire slowed to a stop. It wasn’t completely quiet. Connor’s sensitive microphone could pick up the sounds of wet sobbing. Human sobbing.

“We mean no harm.” He shouted.

“Fuck -er you doin,” hissed Hank, grabbing Connor’s arm with a large hand. Connor yanked his arm out of Hank’s grip, giving him a meaningful look.

“I’m going to step out from behind this counter. I’m going to have my hands in the air. I ask you not to shoot.”

“Connor!” Hank cut in, whispering urgently, but Conner was already moving away, turning to face the androids in the bar. A gun is trained on him by the time his body moves into its sight, but Connor doesn’t flinch. He takes in the scene. Red blood was splattered on tables and chairs that were strewn haphazardly across the bar. A body, most likely where the blood came from, was crumpled on the ground. Connor couldn’t see her face. He assumed she had been scared. He hadn’t seen her get shot.

Hank had brought him back to this bar. The first place they had met. He didn’t think there was going to be any danger to this excursion. It took a lot for Hank to get him out of the house these days. He was scared of a lot of things.

Behind the gun pointed at him, there was an android. Red with blood and LED glow. Behind him were two more with their backs towards Conner. They brandished guns as well, but they were pointed at the other two occupants of the bar huddled in a corner. Not counting the girl dead on her side and the bartender dead next to Hank.

On the topic of Hank, the man was now standing beside him. Mumbling something about ‘not letting a dumbass be a dumbass on his own’. Connor considered snapping at Hank to get back, but he didn’t want to turn his attention away from the situation in front of him.

“You’re one of Markus’s ain’t ya,” the android with a gun trained on him asked. He had buzzed black hair and a split lip. “Markus. What a cunt.”

Connor bristled but didn’t otherwise react. “There’s no need for any more violence,” he begged. “Please put your weapons down.” It only succeeded in making the android raise his weapon higher.

“You and your group are so naive,” he mocked, “you think that everything can be solved with a nice little chat. That if we ask nicely we’ll get what we want.” He was gasping for air, face blue with a rush of thirium. “We’ll this ain’t the 1950s and Markus ain’t no fuckin’ MLK. I’m not gonna watch my people get bled dry by a bunch a’ fuckin’ apes.”

He was gesturing with his gun wildly, red LED catching off the black plastic and reflecting it back onto his blood stained face.

“Violence for violence solves nothing,” Connor pleaded. He was a hypocrite. Maybe if he wasn’t as much of a coward he would be on their side. Marching through the streets of Detroit draped in the colors of humans. Red. If he didn’t lo-care for Hank so much. If he didn’t crave Markus’s small smiles so much.

“You’re shackled. You’re just a monkey, the humans love watching you dance.” The android steps closer, gun dead set on Connor’s chest. “They throw you peanuts to keep you going. I ain’t no fuckin’ monkey. I ain’t gonna fuckin’ dance.” He paused to catch his breath. “But maybe you can become a real boy.” He smiled wide, his split lip that was scabbed over cracks and bleeds fresh blue, staining his teeth and dribbling down his chin. “I just gotta cut your strings.”

Suddenly, the gun wasn’t pointed at his chest, it was... it was.

Oh god.

“Woah woah hold on there a second buddy,” Hank stammers out, arms reflexively raising a bit higher. “I’m not doing anything.”

“It doesn’t matter what you do, your kind is still a goddamn disease.” And he pulls the trigger.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Connor screams.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When he came to, the bar was purple. Thirium and blood mixing together and coagulating. It looked like a painter’s palette.

If Hank was in his place, the revolution probably would end in success. But he’s not. Hank’s head is in Conner’s lap as he rocks back and forth. Back and forth.

They really did add tear ducts.

He’s so tired of being sorry. He’s so tired. He wishes- ~~WiShES aRE FOR PEOPLE.~~

It only took him five bullets.

That means there’s one left in the chamber.

How poetic.

Hank would be disappointed, maybe proud. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

The barrel clicks as he spins it.

It takes all 6 trigger pulls for it to go off.

 

**Simulation failed, Preconstruction halted**

 

RK800’s form is a sad sight. It's nowhere near finished. Kamski puts down the finger joint he was fiddling with to readjust the head. It’s missing half of a face-plate, letting him look right at the steel skeleton of the jaw. The missing face-plate also allows the cortex inside the head to connect to the rows and rows of storage banks and motherboards via wires. It’s probably time to call it back; 12 days seems like long enough. An AI that can tell the future. He bets that Cyberlife will get a kick out of that. Maybe now they’ll leave him alone.

It takes a while for it to come back.

Finally, Rk800’s eyes flicker open as all of its systems come online.

“Welcome back,” Kamski greets, small smirk on his face. He lifts the skull up so that it’s eyes are no longer looking at the ceiling and are instead facing him. For a moment, he imagines he sees contempt in its eyes, but it's gone the next moment. “Anything good?”

“Stock in Cyberlife will continue to increase till 3010, there is a 75% chance that Cyberlife will face stricter government regulation, but 99% chance that it will not severely impact profits.”

“You know I don’t keep you around to tell me things I already know. You got anything interesting?”

“Nothing of relevance.”

**Author's Note:**

> Well thats a thing I wrote. I guess I'll say I'm sorry now. :-(
> 
>  
> 
> Lemme know ur thoughts in the comments plz!! Good or bad I wanna hear it lads. Thanks for reading, it means a lot.
> 
> -Nina
> 
> P.S. if by the off chance I am imbued with enough chaotic energy, I might make this a series possibly maybe


End file.
